THE way was long, and yet ʼtwas sweet,— Through many a shady, soft retreat, Where the broad willow semblance gave Of weeping beauty to the wave; And elm, with massy foliage prest,
And feathery aspenʼs quivering crest; And many a spiry poplar glade, And hazelʼs rich entangled shade; While, onward as advancing still From Omerʼs plain
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to Casselʼs hill,
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Far—yet more far the landscape threw Its deep, immeasurable blue. Oh, beautiful those plains were showing, Where summer sun was hotly glowing! Many a battlefield lay spread—
Once the dark dwelling of the dead: But fruitful now their champaigns wave With bending grain on soldierʼs grave. While far beneath in long array The priestly orders wound their way;
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Heavy the massive banners rolled, Rich wrought with gems, and stiff with gold: While, as the cross came borne on high Beneath its crimson canopy, Many the haughty head that bowed,—
Sunk his high crest the warrior proud, The priest his glance benignant cast, And murmured blessings as he past; While, round the hillside echoing free, Rung the loud‐hymning melody.